Poetry

 Silentium Altum

by Blanche Mary Kelly

    I know a windswept hill where all day long/ Comes never footfall nor the sound of word,/ Only by swallow’s wing or woodlark’s song/ Is that immense and brooding stillness stirred.

 

  I sat awhile in that lost, listening place,/ And felt the pulse of Time beat slow, beat slow,/ Watching, upon the mountain sides of space,/ The bright feet of God’s heralds come and go.

 

  On pinions of that silence I was raised,/ With awe pervaded and pierced utterly,/ Like those that from an Ostian window gazed/ Beyond the bastions of eternity. 

 

 

  The Spy

by Sister Mariella

 

   I am a spy, and I have seen . . .

 

   But first I must tell you/ About the chinks and the keyholes/ Where you may be certain of spying./ You know some of them yourself if you/ Have ever lain on summer grass/ To watch the smooth white daylight pass,/ And have seen the night come down the sky/ Pouring gray wonder silkily/ Through apple boughs that straightway bloom/ With little stars and a full-blown moon.

 But the stars/ And the filigree of apple boughs/ Against a satin sky/ Are not the things on which you spy./ They are the signs/ That the time and the place are as right for peeking/ As down the pasture by the granite rock/ Where cool, damp, earthy smells come stealing/ Out of the tamarack swamp when day goes by./ What was it I saw in the orchard and down by the swamp?

 It was . . .

  I ought to be able to tell you/ Because I ran all the way back from the pasture/  With my eyes shut/ So that I could remember./ But I cannot tell you anything.

 That is why it is safe, I think,/ For every keyhole and every chink/ To be unstuffed and unguarded./ A daisy poising perilously/ Is a keyhole open for those who see./ But you can never remember/ What it is was that you saw./ That is why Lazarus never told anything when he came/ Back from the grave,/ Nor Jairus’ daughter,/ Nor the son of the window of Naim.

 Some day I shall go over into the strange land/ That I’ve been spying on,/ But then I can never come back/ And finish the first line of this poem.

 

Infinite Peace

by Maura Horton

 

The twilight pauses gently on the glow

Of haloed candle-flame and heads bowed low,

And here a peace as infinite, as great

As soul can find comes in to lift the weight

Of burdened heart. In silence they appeal

To Him, to Whom their earnest prayers have soared

And filled with humble faith and love they kneel

Receiving benediction of Our Lord.

 

The time soon comes to leave this peace behind,

Return to earthly cares, yet each shall find

That subtle sense of blessedness that stirred.

A moment in their hearts shall linger on

And touch with beauty every sight and word-

The moment spent with God is never gone.

 Quote of the Day:

To laugh often and much, to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children, to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends, to appreciate beauty, to find the best in others, to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch… to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded!
– Ralph Waldo Emerson

 

 

 

 

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